


Preacher Feature

by Space_gays_that_arent_in_space



Series: Hell On Earth is Right By Your Side [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Gamzee Makara/Terezi Pyrope Kismesissitude, Guilt, Humanstuck, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Minor Terezi Pyrope/Vriska Serket, POV Gamzee Makara, Past Child Abuse, Psychological Trauma, Religious Cults, Religious Fanaticism, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sad Gamzee, Self-Hatred, Sober Gamzee Makara, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Kismesissitude, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:42:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29274882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space/pseuds/Space_gays_that_arent_in_space
Summary: You share a dance with a girl, that girl, and you fear God in all the same ways with your mind going to all the same places.Her nails dig sharp into your shoulders, she is a creature of likes of which the world will not know if you keep her in your maw. Those hollow bones of hers will crack and shatter like glass and she will be all up and destroyed like all of the other things you’ve dared to put your poisonous touch to.You are a monster.You are a curse.You are a nightmare of the most unreal kind, and all that you do is bring folks who don’t deserve it to their very knees with that rage of yours.You are a Makara.
Relationships: Gamzee Makara/Karkat Vantas, Gamzee Makara/Terezi Pyrope
Series: Hell On Earth is Right By Your Side [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2149941
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	Preacher Feature

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for betaing for me Weenie and thank you Catboy for the song recc that inspired this, this was supposed to be like a ficlet and not even a long thing and I guess it's sort of long but nowhere near the length of my other shit. I hope you guys enjoy!! Also it's not a requirement you read the first part but I would recommend you do if you want the full understanding of the toxicity between these two. 
> 
> P.S. If anyone gives a shit should I start adding my tumblr in the bottom note with all of my socials?? I would love to talk to more people about Homestuck n shit like that.

You hold her in your motherfucking arms, close and tight, while that lord forsaken creature you call a brother watches you from his chair at the table. There was a time where you two might have been something more traditional, the kind of brothers who got their mirthful laughter on and drank those wicked elixirs, but now that time is gone. His respect is too great, too reverent, both for the church and your father. You respect him too, your father, for that man is a monster that only heaven could breed, a mirthless sin brought down by the messiah himself, and yet he is the monster whose home you reside in, for that is what the messiah told him. No more parking lots or winter cold chilling you down to your motherfucking bones, no more of that miraculous motherfucking covering you lather your face in. No more of anything at all, not lest you want to incur that punishment of his. Under the low lights in the community center, as you dance with your petite motherfucking lawbitch in your arms. She’s a frail thing, all bone and dust and bite, you hate that you’ve brought her here, hate even more the way that she looks at you so scornfully, and yet you hold her tight and close in your arms. 

Your father doesn’t come near you, as if this dancefloor before you is some sort of motherfucking shield, and yet he watches. His eyes burn your skin, make the blood leak from your every orifice. You can feel it, the way that your blood drips from your nose and eyes and mouth, yet when you swipe your thumb against your chin you see nothing. You never do. 

Her nails dig sharp into your shoulders, she is a creature of likes of which the world will not know if you keep her in your maw. Those hollow bones of hers will crack and shatter like glass and she will be all up and destroyed like all of the other things you’ve dared to put your poisonous touch to. 

You are a monster. 

You are a curse. 

You are a nightmare of the most unreal kind, and all that you do is bring folks who don’t deserve it to their very knees with that rage of yours. 

You are a Makara. 

You can’t quite say you’re certain of the wanting in you to be a Makara. 

You think you might want to be something else. 

You want to be someone with loving, worth caring for, worth pulling from the depths of the most sinful sorts of hell just because of who you are, but when you look at the way the darkness so holds on to your motherfucking family you feel your stomach drop because there is a dark, ugly part of you that knows that you can never be saved from this life of yours. 

You sway to the music they play in the gym, the noise is tinny over the speaker and in your stomach there are stolen sips of beer and a two liter of faygo that you shared with lawsis in the car. You’re shocked she agreed to come, especially with the way she all runs her motherfucking mouth around you, but her family is tied to yours. She is infected with that very same sickness you have, and you’re making it worse every moment that you spend with her. Her ma is off somewhere doing that law thing of hers, none the wiser of the way that her dearest motherfucking spawn is being eaten alive by a bunch of ninjas and ninjettes in this church of yours. There are couples that are dancing around you, couples that you’ve known since before you were born, and you are the only one with an outsider. 

You’re the only one not being homeschooled, too. 

You feel like crying and all over again you feel something on your face. You ignore it. It isn’t fucking real, it’s a wicked fantasy that your mind all whipped up to make you suffer for those sins of yours. Those sins that lie in the corner of your room, the sins that like to sneak against the shadows of the walls in that room, the sins that love to watch you as you sleep in the back of your van. Your sins. Sins like ghosts that haunt your soul because you have nothing else. 

Lawsis presses her face into your chest, she can’t even see over your shoulder, hell, without those wicked shades of hers you’re sure that she can’t see much of anything at all. Even still, you move with her-dance with her. 

You are both sinners, and you will take her to hell with you because the thought of bearing it alone is too evil. You hold her impossibly tight, feeling the breath get pushed out of her lungs. She came to you-she keeps coming and you wish that she didn’t. You wonder if she knows the way that all of this pains you, or if she thinks you’re just a monster with no motherfucking soul. You like to think that she may understand, but you know that you are nothing if not the most delusional sort of optimist. You pull yourself away to get a proper look at her, whisps of hair brushing her motherfucking shoulders and mouth set into a stern sort of frown. She’s pretty. You’ve always thought so, you see why Karbro thinks so. She’s pretty in the way a ceremonial dagger is, she is sharp and dangerous and when you plunge that daggerlike sharpness into yourself with every interaction you know that she becomes all the duller. 

Only in moments like these do you feel a real sense of guilt, and it is in this clarity that you nearly tell her to take her motherfucking self and be saved before she is trapped like you. You cup her cheek in your hand and she looks nearly pained. She likes it best when you’re cruel, when all those words you can’t quite hold back come spilling out to shred her to the most mirthless of bits and you eat the entrails that are her insecurities. The tenderness you show her now though is not for her, no, it can’t be. It is for what you want so badly you would let your pusher be ripped out of your chest still beating. It is for that most beloved of motherfuckers you know. It is for Karkat. 

He knows about you two, you know that he knows, even if lawbitch don’t. You can see it in his eyes- in the way that he doesn’t want to get his walk on to class with you. You see it in the way that when you pass he always leans a little further into that blond bastardous brother with those shades that hide the window to his heart, he is no longer yours because you took what was his. 

You don’t know how to tell him that you didn’t mean for this, that all of this became something more than you expected, that when you allow yourself this chance with her your mind finds itself letting out every dark thought you’ve held in for as long as you’ve known how to flap your tongue, so you say nothing. You leave him be and instead sink your claws into her. Deeper and deeper and deeper they will go, until there is nothing left of either of you. She will bite out your throat and spit it on to you as you rend her down to ribbons. 

When you look away from her you see him again, your most beloved of brothers-your big brother, Kurloz. 

His eyes are sharp and with all of that hair of his tied back he looks nearly like a demon. He’s taken after your father so much that sometimes you nearly mistake the two, the only real difference is in those voices of theirs, or rather, lack thereof, but when he watches you with your father’s nearly black eyes you know that he belongs here. He is one with the church, with the messiah, and you are the sinful little thing that needs to be taught better. 

He’s even the one who got you back into the motherfucking house. You don’t know how or what he said, but you remember his text so clearly that it might as well be seared right up into your eyelids. 

**Young brother, our most fair and fucking just father requests your return, lest you detest the messiah much as he says you do you best be getting your mirthless motherfucking ass back home**

Now you’re here, dressed in his clothes that are always just a little too big on you and dancing with a girl who wishes you dead. 

You spin her and watch the way her dress flops limply about her body. She’s wearing the suit jacket pa gave you because the dress is too scandalous at the top and you knew it was the moment you saw it. She had been quite the wicked bitch about it, but you didn’t care-don’t care. You got her to wear that damn coat that stinks like your dad’s cologne, there’s nothing you’ll have to hear from them later about your date save for her status as an outsider. 

_Should’ve brought that Leijon bitch, you know how beloved those sisters are_

Kurloz offered to get his girl’s little sis to go with you, but you just couldn’t do it. You can never do anything at all, for that would mean making a choice, defying your father in a way that you cannot even imagine. The thought of it makes your pusher ache so bad you think you’ll keel over on the ground and just about die with the feeling. He’s so close to touching, and when you see him you’re just motherfucking sure he can hear those thoughts rattling your pan. He knows your blasphemies, the unmiraculous, wicked words that are so close to dripping out of you, ready for the drinking, ready for the punishing. There is a part of you, the part of you that is loyal and true to the church, that thinks you deserve to repent, to bow down and beg for the mirthful motherfucking messiah to forgive you for all those transgressions you up and made. That part of you wants so badly to be taken back into the church with the most open of motherfucking arms and pies a plenty, but you fear that they can’t-that you can’t. You fear that getting your fraternize on with outsiders has sullied you in a way that you can never recover from. 

You fear that the worship you once reserved for your lord has now wandered itself elsewhere. That isn’t true, not exactly, for you don’t just fear that as a possibility, not when your pusher is absolutely certain of that truth. It is acrid and sharp to think, it makes your eyes get their sting on yet again tonight, and you feel like you’ve been stripped down to your bones. You turn with her yet again, move yourselves so that your back is to them and you may indulge yourself in these feelings to gentle for a motherfucker like yourself. Despite the way that you might bed the bitch in your arms right now, you don’t really want her, just like she doesn’t really want you. What you want-long for more than you do the angel of double death’s absolute salvation-is the love of your most beloved of miracles. What you desire is Karkat. 

The music rings in your ears and you think of the easy nights you two spent together before all of this started. The times where you two got your motherfucking chill on down in his basement with his romance films, or the way you’d take your asses the fuck home together after school every day after you became friends. You think about how he’s been there for you during so many of your most wicked hours, and now you’ve pushed him away. He can no longer be yours because a motherfucker mucked it up too horribly, so now you’re stuck with this bitch-this girl-Terezi. You’re stuck here at this dance with Terezi in your motherfucking arms when you wish you were anywhere else with anyone else because she hates you. She hates you and you hate yourself and you know that you’re nothing but a motherfucking replacement for the spiderbitch she so longs for despite all of her sins, and you wonder if there will ever be anyone who will love you like that. 

Karbro almost did. 

You were almost his, he was almost yours. 

Maybe if things were different. 

If _you_ were different. 

Something in you reaches a head, and when you hold Terezi you feel a tiredness seep into your bones that makes you slump, this song feels endless, this life is endless. 

You dance an endless dance with her, sober and sick with it all. You want this to stop. You want to be free of this moment-of this place, and yet with each glance you take of the table the adults are sitting at you want this endless dance to keep on with its endlessness. You catch a glimpse of those black eyes that were jammed right into your motherfucking sockets by the lord himself. Everyone says that you look so much like your wicked ass father without all that shit on your face, it makes you miss it even more. He isn’t watching you, not when he doesn’t need to-not when Kurloz is there to do his bidding. 

Your lungs are black and rotten and you feel like you could hack ‘em right on to the dancefloor before everyone. 

You are suffocating here in this place. 

Your insides are moldy and rotten and bad down to the core, just like you. 

Terezi’s hands cling to you like she can feel what you feel and when you look down at her face it's almost like she does. You are both moldy motherfuckers, all cursed from the people you love the very most. Maybe that’s why she continues to make her way all back to you, maybe in her hate she feels safe, for there ain’t a motherfucker out there who can break you worse than the one you love. Maybe she hates you because you’re the only thing she can hate more than her very own motherfucking self. There are so many possibilities in this life, all of which make you sick, all of which you feel near undeserving of as you march your motherfucking ass through the blackest of tunnels with no light on the other side. 

You clear your throat, hoping to get rid of the cobwebs and muted cries before you say even a word to her. 

”Brother believes that your incorrigible motherfucking blasphemy spouting has finally been ceased lawbitch. Bless the messiahs for that miracle.” 

She moves her hands from your shoulders and up to your neck. Then, she pushes one of those wickedly sharp nails into your skin. She digs it in, rough and painful enough for you to think she may have even cut you, and you give her that easy smile you always do. 

”Maybe, I just think that doing you a favor will get you off my back for a little while” Her voice is snappy and rough like sandpaper, but not rough enough. 

She leans up so her mouth is particularly close to where her nail digs into your throat and for a split second you think she’ll add on to the litany of marks that already lie there, but she doesn’t. Instead she opens her mouth again. 

”Besides, I can always say what I want after we get out of this hellhole.” 

It stings in an odd way, like she knows more than you do when she says it. Your grip around her waist gets impossibly tight and when she muffles a whimper you know that she’ll bruise because of you. The satisfaction you get with that knowledge disgusts you as much as it makes the blood rush southbound. You don’t act on it though, despite wanting to kiss her lips bloody and watch the way that she looks below you, despite wanting for her to bring you to salvation in the way that she so loves torturing you when you get down and dirty, you just stay. You stay on the dancefloor and let your hands go a little looser on her hips. 

You wonder why she keeps coming back to you, why she loves the way you let that rage that lies deep beneath your skin treats her. Spiderbitch may have been one sort of monster but at least behind her eyes there was love. With you, you aren’t quite sure of what you feel towards her, not anymore, but you are a weak soul. You’re so very weak and all you really want is the touch of another person and the promise of salvation. Who cares if it’s a little torture every single time? Who cares that with each lick of her skin-with each press of her mouth to yours and the dig of teeth into your flesh and the taste of blood on your lips you find the possibility of living to become less and less real. Who cares that you are simply a motherfucking footnote in her journey down that path of her life, while this may be the very end of it for you. 

Who cares that she is free to fly as she pleases, and you are but a caged motherfucking bird, only meant for your father’s display? 

Not you, you can’t care about a thing, you aren’t capable of it. 

You didn’t care when Spiderbitch’s sister keeps finding her way into your van and setting up little webs in your mind, she’s got you spun up so many ways that you aren’t quite sure of your left from your right. You just know that she likes to leave her blue lipstick and fancy perfume all over your skin and makes you promise things you never quite mean. You didn’t care when Karbro stopped responding to your texts even if you keep sending them, night after night. You remember the day he stopped, when he saw you pulling Terezi into the auditorium for one of your most dark performances. She didn’t see him even though you did, and with how close she was to you it was obvious what your machinations were. You won’t care when you are left by this lovely little creature in your arms who deserves none of what you’ve done. She knows she’s better than you, she’s always lorded it over your head. All talking down to you ‘n shit because she just knows that you’re meant for nothing-you will be nothing-you _are_ nothing. You can’t care. You won’t care. You don’t care. For if you care there is the promise of death. You will not rend others to ribbons, no, instead you will be the bloody pieces that litter the ground and you will be feasted upon by your very own. 

You wish that you could feast upon yourself. 

With that final thought and an ache in your pusher that’s become so raw you fear your father might see the saltwater tears that are getting their sting on in your eyes, the song ends. This endless dance is over and yet it’s almost like this night has just begun. 

Lawsis takes her step back from you and when she looks at you all you recognize in her eyes in a strong sense of disgust. 

You take her to your van and go through the motions. 

You bite her and kiss her and grab her all over. 

She scratches and hides sounds and lets out those ever cruel words of hers. 

None of it is real. 

When her lips touch yours they taste sour like the candy she always has in that mouth of hers. You look at the way that moonlight drips into the van and lights up the pictures on your wall. There are ones of you and Karbo, you and Tav, even some of just your other friends in the group of you. You don’t quite remember what it’s like to be as happy as you looked in those photos. 

You put your face between her legs and let yourself get lost in the thought of someone else’s thighs squishing your ears. You grope and lick and suck with your mind wandering to a voice that’s sandpapery rough and deeper than hers. That voice that sighs and swears with such a miraculous motherfucking elegance that you can’t help but admire. You imagine hands covered in callouses and bitten nailbeds gripping your hair and pulling your face ever closer into a slick cunt that you could eat out forever, but it’s not real. You know it’s not real because her skin is cold and her fingers are bony and her voice is nothing in the air because she never speaks to you when you do this together. It doesn’t matter though because you don’t care. 

When you fuck her you feel nothing but hatred and disgust. 

How can she do this to Karbro? 

How can you do this to him? 

Why do you like the way she lets you let out that anger of yours? 

Why did you have to be born the way you are? 

Why can’t you just be free? 

She doesn’t look at you when you let yourself sink real motherfucking deep into her, just like you don’t look at her. Instead, you both cling to each other and imagine something else, something better than this that you share in here and now. You hold her by her waist and her hips match your thrusts like they were built for doing it. She’s enjoying it, even if she refuses to mention even a word about it. You want to kiss her with a tenderness only reserved for lovers, though only because you wish you had the comfort of being loved by anyone at all, but you aren’t. 

You can’t be loved. 

You are a monster. 

You are a curse. 

You are a nightmare of the most unreal kind, and all that you do is bring folks who don’t deserve it to their very knees with that rage of yours. 

You are a Makara. 

You know that you don’t have long, not when your father or Loz could be looking for you at any moment. That’s why your pants are just under your ass and her dress is hiked up toward her stomach. That’s why you take the opportunity to flip her on to her stomach and fuck her till she ends up biting down on one of her fingers and letting out a sound like you’ve just bestowed the most brutal of deaths upon her. You pull out almost immediately after she makes that sound, preferring to take yourself into your hand and stroke till you cum on to her leg. She makes a face at you like she could kill you here and now and you hope that she does, but she won’t. 

You drain what’s left of a bottle of Faygo and share in a whiskey with lawsis in the back your van. 

You’ll have to go back soon, you know that you do, but soon is not now. Now, you are allowed a break, you are allowed the opportunity to drink up the winter air and let the burn that whiskey leaves down your throat mingle with the mold inside of you. 

This night is endless, this life is endless, and you will drag her to the pits of the most wicked kinds of hell with you, for you have never learned anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi kudos, comments, etc are greatly appreciated and there is a 99% chance that if you comment I'll reply.
> 
> @tamyura__on twt  
> @porcelain.babies on insta


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